Page 20 of Christmas Coffee

Nova

Still smiling, with his hand in mine, I laugh. “The what now? I thought this was for a Bardenbey coffee house manager?”

Quin shakes his head. “Nope, it’s for seasonal management right here.”

I blink and try to hide the apprehension on my face. “Here? In the ice stand?”

“Yes, right here. Which is why heels and a suit don’t work. The uniform is included in your salary and base pay starts here with bonuses if you reach certain sales thresholds each day.” He holds out a piece of paper for me.

I take it and look it over. The pay is marginal, but the bonuses are pretty good. Combined, it makes the take home check enough money, assuming I can sell as much coffee as I claimed. Pressing my lips together I ask the question, “Are there benefits?”

He shakes his head and loops his arm over the back of the chair. “Not at the this time. If you’re as good as you say you are, I’d expect Bardenbey to grab you before the end of the season. This is a place to prove yourself, show that you’re a good sport and an invaluable team player. It’ll end up in your permanent file and when they want to hire a manager for one of the main shops, your name will be at the top.”

It sounds like bullshit, but Judy works in human resources and said that’s how it works. It’s rare to get into a management job at Bardenbey from the outside and I’m being given a chance. I should take it. I can do this. A shiver licks my spine and I convulse without meaning to. I’m not wearing a wool coat like Quin, because I’d assumed we’d be inside a heated building.

Quin continues telling me how much promise a job like this has, that entry points into Bardenbey are rare and this one will be snatched up if I pass it up. Then he tells me about my daily tasks, and points to the places where the machines go. Apparently, they’re showing up later today along with the rest of the business supplies, including cups, lids, sugar, stirring sticks, and all that.

Then he stops, stands, and looks down at me. “So, Nova—are you on board?”

I rise and force a smile, jutting out my hand to shake on it. “I am. Thank you for the opportunity.” He shakes on it and then turns to grab a piece of paper from a pile of papers on the counter. “Head over here to get fitted for your uniform and report here tomorrow afternoon. You’re on the night shift. We close at eleven. They’ll make sure you’re fitted and ready to go for tomorrow. The only thing you need to grab is a pair of shoes. I’d suggest sneakers or something comfortable since you’ll be on your feet all day. See you tomorrow.”

I want to ask about training, but I swallow the questions. Now isn’t the time. I thank him and walk out of the shack. When I sit down in my car, I look at the address in my hand—it’s a costume shop.